


Dancing with the Devil

by afaithfulwriter890



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bondage, Bottom Castiel, Bromance, Character Death, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Demon Blood Addict Sam, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, Demon Sam, Demon Sam Winchester, Demon Sex, Discipline, Feels, Human Castiel, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Romance, Sam On Demon Blood, Top Dean, eventual angels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-22 14:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2511698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afaithfulwriter890/pseuds/afaithfulwriter890
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel sells his soul to save his brother's life. However, instead of selling it to Hell, he sells it to the mysterious demon called Dean Winchester. Dean says that Castiel can live the rest of his life in peace, but when he dies, his soul belongs to HIM. Castiel agrees. After his death (and even a bit before) Castiel finds that he is developing feelings for this incredibly powerful demon. Castiel begins to fall in love with him, and he slowly begins to tear down Dean's defensive walls and tame the devil that lurks within the former human. But when an old friend comes to Castiel and offers him salvation in exchange for a "small" favor, Castiel is torn. He is now forced to make a choice that could potentially destroy everything - Heaven, Hell, and the demonic man he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Opening Number

            The demon stared at him with soulless black eyes. “So . . . what can I do for you, gorgeous?” he said with a dark chuckle.

            The man gulped. Suddenly, this didn’t seem like such a good idea. He watched the demon with wary eyes. The man’s vessel – whoever it was – was very attractive. He was tall – about 6’2 with gelled blond hair . . . and evergreen eyes when they weren’t . . . the color of obsidian. Those dark, abysmal eyes made the man shudder in fear; made the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. “I would . . . like to sell my soul,” the man said, his voice catching as he spoke.

            The demon smiled sinisterly. “Yeah, I got that part, sugar-lips. But most people don’t come to me _just_ to sell their soul. What do you want in return?”

            “My brother – Gabriel – he’s . . . he’s sick,” the man explained. The demon watched him closely, his black eyes running over the human’s body with carnal intent. The man couldn’t help but notice how the demon paid so close attention to him – how it . . . almost admired him. The man, on many occasions, had been told that he was attractive, but it was always women who had told him that. Did . . . did this demon find him attractive too? It was a bizarre assumption, but . . . _No,_ the human tried to tell himself. Demons were always like that – they were always doing whatever they could to make other uncomfortable. That was what Michael had always said, and he was a theologian.

            “Ah,” the demon said, now clearly understanding the human’s intent. “So you want me to cure your poor brother and in return, you give me your soul?”

            The man nodded. “Yes . . . that is what I want.”

            “In ten years, my boss will send his . . . dogs to collect our payment,” the demon explained. “That is the _normal_ practice . . . but . . . I have something different in mind.”

            “Something . . . different?” the man asked, his voice rising in pitch partially out of curiosity and partially out of fear. “What do you mean?”

            “I mean . . . I have a different deal to offer you, sugar-lips,” the demon said. “How about . . . I fix your brother . . . but instead of you sealing the deal and signing my boss’s contract . . . why don’t you sign mine?”

            “What would . . . your contract entail?” the human asked.

            The demon thought for a moment. “Well . . . for one thing, I’ll sweeten the deal. Your entire family – your brother, your other brothers, your sisters – anyone who’s related to you – I’ll give them all a long happy life. All of them. They’ll die of old age and they’ll all – most likely – go to Heaven. And, I won’t take your soul in ten years.”

            “You won’t . . . so . . . is the time length shorter?”

            “Nope, that’s the beauty of it, sugar-lips,” the demon said with a smile. His black eyes were gone now and replaced with the green that the man found . . . rather enthralling. “You get to live the rest of your life too. But, when you die, your soul belongs to me.”

            “So . . . this is the same deal, but better?” the man asked. He didn’t understand. Why was this demon doing this? Why was he making it _easier_ on him?

            “Well . . . not exactly. You see, if you pick my boss’s deal, when you die, you’ll go to the pit. You’ll be tortured in unspeakable ways and will have all the humanity burned out of you until you are one of us . . . But, if you go with me, you will be _mine,_ ” the demon explained.

            The human was still confused. “I’m not sure I still understand . . . What does . . . being ‘yours’ mean for me?”

            The demon smirked. “Do you _really_ want to know?” he asked. His voice sounded unusually dark . . . but there was a new tone in it as well. Something still demonic but . . . inviting. It made the man shiver again, but this time it was more in . . . anticipation.

            “I don’t know . . . is it . . . pleasant?”

            The demon laughed. “More pleasant than the pit, rest assured. And . . . you might find it . . . very enjoyable. I won’t turn you into a demon – not right away, at least. You’ll be my . . . servant of sorts. A . . . what’s the right word? Companion? Slave? Submissive? Those all describe it well enough.”

            “Why, though?” the human continued to inquire. “I don’t understand why you would do this for me.”

            “Why do you think? I like you, sugar-lips. I just met you, but I can see you – really see you. And I like you.”

            The man thought for a few moments. What choice did he have? At least . . . this deal seemed better than the other one. “Okay. I accept.”

            The demon smirked. “Excellent. Now come hither.”

            “Huh?”

            “You need to sign my contract,” the demon explained.

            “Oh . . . okay, do you have a pen?” the man asked, walking over as the demon requested.

            When he was less than a foot away, the demon chuckled. “Honey, it’s not that kind of a contract.”

            The human didn’t understand. He cocked his head to the side, and his lips puckered ever so slightly. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. The demon got a hungry look in his eyes. His tongue darted out for a split second to wet his lips. “I don’t need your signature. I need something else. We seal our deals . . . In a . . . specific way.”

            “How?”

            “C’mere, sugar-lips. Let me get a taste of you.”

            “W- what?”

            “You won’t only be signing your soul over to me . . . but also getting a little preview of what’s to come,” the demon said. Before the human could ask what he meant, the demon had him by the shoulders.

            The human stared into his eyes, his own wide with a mixture of fear and, surprisingly, arousal. The demon’s eyes were that deep, handsome green again. He looked . . . good. He looked like a god – an angel. How could someone so beautiful be so evil? _Did . . . did I just call him beautiful?_ the human thought. A blush rose to his cheeks at the realization.

            The demon didn’t miss it. “Aww, that’s adorable,” he purred. One of his hands abandoned the human’s shoulders and gently caressed his cheek. “You’re too sweet, sugar-lips. Usually, I don’t like sweet stuff . . . but you – if I get sick from you, it’ll be worth it. But I don’t think you’ll make me sick – you’re like my special bed. You ain’t too hard. You ain’t too soft. You’re just right.”

            The human gulped again. “Well . . . I take it that’s good.”

            “Hmm,” the demon purred once more. “Very, _very_ good.” Without warning, the demon leaned forward and pressed his lips to the man’s. The man went rigid; he didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t kissed anyone before – not a woman, not another man . . . This was completely new territory to him. But the demon kept going, his lips moving against the human’s stationary ones. “C’mon,” he growled between his kisses. “Open up, sugar-lips. Kiss me back.”

            The human slowly opened his mouth, and then began to move in sync with the demon’s, and the human felt . . . happy. The feeling of the demon’s mouth against his – it felt . . . good. It felt . . . amazing. And suddenly he found that he didn’t want to stop. Instinctively, his hands went up to cup the demon’s face, but that’s when it pulled away.

            “We have eternity for more of that,” he promised with a devilish smirk. “I’m glad you liked it . . . uh . . . I never did get your name, sugar-lips.”

            The human swallowed. His body was left reeling with the sudden loss of contact. He couldn’t explain it, but he wanted to kiss this demon again. He wanted the demon to . . . shove him against a wall and kiss him over and over . . . He didn’t want the demon to stop. Ever.

            “Castiel,” the human answered, breathless.

            “Castiel?” the demon repeated with a chuckle. “What kinda name is that?”

            “An angel’s name,” Castiel repeated. “My . . . my parents named all of us after angels. They’re very religious.”

            “Castiel,” the demon repeated once more. “Ha, that’s too good.”

            “What is your name, if I may ask,” Castiel questioned, his eyes narrowed slightly.

            “Dean,” the demon replied, his eyes briefly flashing obsidian again.

            “Dean?”

            “What? Is there something wrong with it?”

            “It doesn’t sound like a demon’s name, that’s all,” Castiel remarked. “Dean sounds . . .”

            “Human? Yeah, I know. Hell, maybe one day I’ll tell you the story,” Dean muttered, turning away from his client.

            “What story?”

            “The story about how I became a demon,” Dean murmured, turning back toward him.

            “You weren’t . . . born one?” Castiel asked, suddenly feeling a little foolish. _Why would you ask that?_

            Dean laughed. “No, demons don’t work that way. Demons – we were all humans once. Most of us make deals like you and get turned over a few decades – sometimes centuries.”

            “You say most . . . so you . . . that is not how you . . . became a demon?”

            “Oh, darling, I ain’t an ordinary demon for starters – I’m not even a crossroads demon,” Dean said with a chuckle. “I ain’t even supposed to be here, but I . . . I needed some fun, so I ‘convinced’ the crossroads demon that was _supposed_ to be here to . . . take the night off.”

            “So . . . if you’re not a ‘crossroads’ demon, as you call them . . . what are you?”

            Dean smirked. “Honey, you don’t wanna know. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. All you need to know, is that I am the most power demon in Hell, and that’s all you need to remember.”

            “So . . . is it done then? Our deal?” Castiel asked. He decided that he would painfully let the topic rest. _I guess I’ll have time later to . . . inquire._

            “Taken care of,” Dean said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Anything else, Castiel, or am I free to leave?”

            “You don’t exactly need my permission if you’re the most powerful demon in Hell,” Castiel shot back innocently.

            Dean laughed again. “I really like you, Castiel. You’ve got moxie, and I look forward to spending the rest of eternity with you! See you in . . . oh forty or fifty years, give or take a few.” And with that, the demon was gone.

            Castiel was left, standing in the middle of the crossroads, looking around in confusion. He knew that Dean had appeared suddenly, but he hadn’t even seen him leave. He was there one second, and then gone in the blink of an eye. Castiel sighed and turned to head home. Instead of fearing Hell, he found himself anxious to see Dean again. He couldn’t explain it, but he actually thought that his death couldn’t come soon enough.


	2. The Debt is Paid

            Castiel was seventy-nine when he died, and he died alone. He had never married, and his older brothers – Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Gabriel, Balthazar – had all passed away by this point. They’d gone to Heaven; at least that is what the priest said at their funeral services. The priest proclaimed that they were good, honest men. Castiel always felt a sharp, stinging pain in his chest when he thought of his brothers in Heaven. They certainly deserved it . . . but at the same time, he knew that he would never see them again. He would never get to see their Heaven. He would never get to spend time with them, or see their faces again. No, he had a different destination.

            Castiel was very sick and was living in a nursing home. His youngest brother, Samandriel, had arranged it, and paid for Castiel’s stay there. Normally, Samandriel would have been there, sitting at Castiel’s bedside – just being there to comfort his older brother. But the day Castiel died, Samandriel wasn’t there.

            As he waited for his younger brother, Castiel’s mind began to drift back to that demon he had met with almost fifty years ago. It seemed like . . . such a long time since they had met. _Will he come for me?_ Castiel wondered. The notion was oddly comforting to him. He wasn’t _afraid_ of the demon collecting him. He was waiting for it. _Anything for this to . . . just go away. This pain. Let it be over . . . Dean . . ._ The name sounded bizarre even in his head.

            Then, a sound reached Castiel’s ears. Footsteps. They seemed to be coming down the hall – toward his room. _Good,_ he thought with a sigh of relief. _Samandriel has finally made it. I always knew I could count on him . . . Maybe I should tell him to stop coming . . . I know it is hard on him. He’s seventy-three himself – can hardly get around. He should be home with his wife, not catering to my needs._ As he worked up the nerve to tell his younger brother this, he finally heard the footsteps cease just outside his door. He turned, expecting to see Samandriel, but instead, seeing someone he would have never expected. His mouth fell open ever so slightly.

            “Hey, sugar-lips,” Dean said. He leaned on the side of the doorframe, smirking. “You’re . . .”

            “Old?” Castiel cracked. His voice sounded so . . . weak. So dry. It was nothing like it once was – deep, commanding; a voice that turned women – and apparently demons too – on.

            Dean shrugged. “I think you’re still lookin’ hot, but hey that’s just me.” He waltzed into the room and shut the door behind him.

            “Is it time?” Castiel asked quietly.

            “How’d you know?”

            “I thought . . . You mentioned something about . . . dogs collecting,” Castiel murmured. He _had_ been thinking about that. If it looked like he’d been mauled by dogs, what would the nursing home think? What trouble would they get in for _that_ one?

            Dean looked insulted. “Do you really think I’d let a pack of mutts come in and hurt you?” he asked. Castiel was surprised by the earnestness in the demon’s voice. He looked up at him, almost sheepishly. Dean’s piercing green eyes were fixated on him, and his forehead was slightly creased. “Castiel, you aren’t an ordinary soul on the highway to hell.”

            “That’s a . . . interesting choice of words.”

            “Castiel, you are special to me – very special. No, I had to do this personally,” Dean said. And suddenly, he was right beside the bed, smirking down at Castiel. The demon sat on the edge of the bed and gently cupped the older man’s face. “Now, are you ready? Ready to finally come home with me?”

            _Home_ might have sounded nice if it didn’t refer to Hell. But . . . if he was going with Dean, and if Dean meant everything he had said . . .

            “Yes,” Castiel whispered.

            For once, Dean didn’t have a devilish smirk on his face. Instead he ran his thumb along Castiel’s cheek. “This won’t hurt a bit, sugar-lips. I promise.”

            Castiel took in a shaky breath and nodded.

            Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips to Castiel’s once more.

 

****

 

            Dean had been right; it hadn’t hurt . . . not at first. Death itself was such an easy concept. It was quick and painless; more of a release than anything. In fact, Castiel was unconscious the entire time; unaware. When he came to, Castiel was, to his great surprise, lying on a luxurious bed. He sat up with a start. If he had been human – alive – his heart would have been hammering in his chest, but the cavity was oddly silent. Castiel did not feel the blood pulsing through his veins. The anxiety and the uncertainty was still there, but the adrenaline – the _humanness_ – was gone.

            He looked around his new surroundings in wonder. He was in a medium-sized room that had a Gothic look to it. The bed on which he sat looked like rod-iron (but he knew it had to be an imitation of some kind since Michael had once told him that supernatural creatures hated iron), and the comforter was a dark crimson. The walls had an intricate red-and-black design on them, and most of the furniture was either the same “iron” of the bed, or wood that had been painted black. The carpet was red, as were the shades of the lamps that were positioned on either side of the bed. An “iron” chandelier hung from the ceiling, but instead of having bulbs, it had red candles. The flames of those candles danced lazily as wind drifted by, making them shake ever-so-slightly.

            “What d’ya think, sugar?”

            Castiel jumped at the sound of Dean’s voice. His head shot up and his dark blue eyes locked with Dean’s evergreen ones. He looked around the room once more, before looking back to Dean. He never would have expected his room to be so . . . furnished; so fancy. “It’s nice,” he said, and it was the truth. Castiel could have done without all the red, but, for a room in Hell, it was pretty damn nice – better than the dungeon of misery and torture he had been expecting.

            “Yeah, I didn’t do the decorating – that was Crowley,” Dean said. He stood in the room’s doorway, half in and half out. He, again, was leaned up against the doorframe. Castiel had figured that that was just something he did – a tiny, insignificant detail that could easily get lost in the numerous others that made up whoever Dean was.

            “Crowley?” Castiel asked, sitting on the edge of the bed now. He was watching Dean with interest. Their first encounter had been . . . intimidating, but also invigorating. Castiel had spent years trying to deny it, but eventually had no choice to accept it: his encounter with Dean fifty years ago had turned him on. But this . . . this time it was different. Dean was no longer trying to persuade him, or even play with him. Castiel was already his, so the Dean he was seeing now was the real one . . . Wasn’t it?

            “A friend of mine,” Dean explained with a dismissive tone. It was clear to Castiel that his new demonic companion didn’t want to talk about it. “He’s . . . not important. He’ll show up here eventually – sooner than later – but we’ll . . . get to him when the time comes. You won’t meet many demons – not if I have any say in the matter. The only person you’ll probably have contact with is my brother – Sam.”

            Castiel cocked his head to the side. He slid off the bed and turned so he faced Dean head-on. Dean shifted and stood up straight. His eyebrows arched upward, and his dark green eyes held an unspoken dare. They almost seemed to say, _Did I tell you that you could stand? Are you gonna try to walk out? You wanna try that, sugar-lips?_ But Castiel didn’t want to walk out. Due to reasons unfathomable to him, he wanted to be closer to Dean. “You have a brother?”

            Dean seemed to relax, he leaned against the doorframe again and folded his arms across his chest. “Is that surprising to you, Castiel?”

            Castiel shivered at the sound of his name on Dean’s lips. Did this demon have any idea what he did to him? But even more unsettling, how the hell was it so easy to make him feel this way? “I just . . . never thought of demons having siblings.”

            “Like I said – human once.”

            “And your brother is . . . a demon too?”

            Dean nodded. He walked into the room then, letting his arms fall to his sides. His evergreen eyes raked over Castiel’s slender figure hungrily. Whether he was trying to distract the human, or turn him on, Castiel didn’t know. He would have been fine with either, really. _How could something evil be so . . ._

            “Long story,” Dean replied. Either he didn’t notice the way Castiel stiffened under his gaze, or he chose to ignore it. Castiel had a feeling that it was the latter. He believed that Dean knew _exactly_ what he was doing, and was doing it entirely on purpose. “I might tell you one day.”

            “That’s the second time you’ve told me that,” Castiel pointed out. Dean was closer now – about five feet away. _Come closer._ The thought crossed Castiel’s mind before he could stop it. _Stop it, Castiel . . . He’s a demon. You shouldn’t . . . you shouldn’t_ want _this. What would Michael say if he saw you now? What would any of your family members say if they saw you now?_

            “Is it imperative that you know the answer right now?” Dean asked.

            “Uh . . . no?”

            “Exactly. So, I don’t feel the need to tell you,” the demon said simply. His eyes flickered black for half a second.

            Castiel, realizing that he had overstepped his boundaries, took a step back and lowered his head. He remembered that he wasn’t here as Dean’s equal, but his servant. His _submissive,_ as Dean had called it.

            _Submissive._

            The term sounded oddly appealing.

            _I could live with that,_ Castiel thought, his mind drifting to dirty places.

            “Okay Dean,” Castiel murmured.

            He thought he heard a sound come from Dean’s direction. It was a soft, barely noticeable sound; a somewhere between a sigh and a groan. Dean’s voice then sounded, darker and more demonic than ever before. “Say it again.”

            Castiel looked up, his blue eyes wide. Dean had – silently – appeared in front of him. He was less than a foot away, and his eyes were pitch black. “Huh?” Castiel asked, not comprehending what was going on. Dean was too close. He was making it hard to concentrate.

            “Say it again,” Dean growled this time. “Say my name.”

            Castiel stared at him for a moment, finally realizing what his new companion was requesting. His lips curled upward in the slightest of smiles. “Dean.” It came out as a breathy sigh – more like a moan. It was full of want and desire, just as Castiel had intended it.

            Dean let out a low growl. For the first time since Castiel had known him, he knew for a fact that Dean _was not_ human. He was something else – something wilder, something fiercer, something that couldn’t be tamed . . . or could it? Could Castiel somehow be able to _tame_ this monster?

            Without warning, Dean’s hand was clamped around Castiel’s throat and they were on the bed. Castiel was being pressed into the mattress, Dean’s weight almost crushing him. The demon had straddled him, had one hand on his throat, and the other was now covering the human’s mouth. Dean smirked and leaned down so his face was less than an inch from Castiel’s. “Don’t tempt me, sugar-lips. Because you might just get more than you bargained for.”

            Dean held him like that for a few moments, staring into his eyes. Castiel just stared back, his stomach doing somersaults. His pants suddenly felt unusually tight. He gulped. God forbid Dean happened to notice that he was actually . . . aroused by this. _Do you think he doesn’t know that?_ a voice in the back of his head thought. _With the way you’ve been acting, he knows_ damn _well that you like it when he . . . takes charge._ And Castiel didn’t agree with the voice inside his head. In fact, he thought it was right. Dean pinning him to the bed with one had on his throat and the other over his mouth was sexy as fuck.

            Then, Dean pulled away. Castiel almost whimpered at the loss of contact but managed to suppress it. Dean hopped off the bed and strode toward the door. “Maybe later you and I can . . . get to know each other better, but for right now, I have work to do,” the demon said, not even bothering to give Castiel a second glance.

            The human sat up on the bed, his hair slightly mussed. The tan trench coat he always wore – and was also his favorite piece of clothing – looked a little ruffled, and his dark blue tie was slightly crooked. To an outsider, the scene would look rather comical, but Castiel wasn’t enjoying it in the slightest.

            _Don’t leave. I’m sorry, Dean. Don’t leave._

            “Where are you going?” Castiel asked. He internally winced at how needy he sounded. He didn’t even _know_ this guy – demon – and he was already acting like a clingy, needy girlfriend. _What is it about him?_ Castiel wondered. _Why does he captivate me so thoroughly?_

            “I just said,” Dean said, looking over his shoulder once. “I have work to do.” Before Castiel could ask another question, Dean had stepped across the threshold and closed the door of the bedroom behind him.

            Castiel sat on the bed dejectedly. He stared at the black wooden door. Dean had been there just a few seconds before. Perhaps he still lingered outside . . . listening. It was a wild thought, and, looking back, Castiel shake his head at it. For Castiel never would understand what had attracted him to Dean in their first few meetings. The only thing Dean had going for him was his good looks, and that would have been enough for some, but not Castiel. Castiel was not a materialistic man. He always tried to never judge books by their covers, and he certainly never feel _this_ way solely based on a person’s appearance.

            But soon, Castiel would find himself meeting the _real_ Dean. And he would find that the demons that haunted him were even more frightening than the demon he had become.


	3. The Princes, the Pauper, and the King

            Dean did not return for a long time. At first, Castiel got a little worried. His mind began to go to dark places. Had something happened? Was he alright? But it didn’t take too long for logic to set back in. Dean was a demon – the strongest in Hell – he didn’t exactly _need_ protection. He was fine. Absolutely fine. Besides, Dean was working. Who knew how long that would take. _But . . . what do demons even_ do _?_ Castiel wondered, and then thought better of the question. _I don’t want to know._

            A few hours passed and Castile began to grow restless. He was growing tired of this room – growing tired of being alone. Time seemed to pass differently in this world. It felt like everything was slower here – longer. A part of him tried to remind himself that Dean had only been gone for a few hours, but another insisted that it had been years. But that wasn’t possible. Was it? There didn’t seem to be any difference between day and night. The room had now windows, nor any clocks. How long had it been? Days . . . ? Weeks . . . ? Months . . . ? Years . . . ? Castiel didn’t know. He began to fear that he was going insane.

            He paced ceaselessly back and forth across the room. He never grew tired. His legs never ached. His stomach never growled. His throat never grew dry and arid. He never felt the need to use the bathroom. In a way, it was as if he’d been made young again, and yet he felt too little. All of those pesky, human needs were gone. There were no mirrors in the room, but Castiel could tell by the shape his body was in, and by the youthful look of his pale skin, that he was young again. He assumed that he looked the same as he had when he made the deal with Dean. After all, that _was_ when he sold his soul. It made sense that his body would be preserved in that state.

            He wasn’t as happy as he thought he would be to discover this. Looks and appearance had long ago become meaningless to him. All his mind could focus on was Dean. When would he come back? Would he ever return? Had Castiel upset him so terribly? Was this absence punishment?

            Castiel stopped pacing suddenly. _What’s the use?_ he wondered. It did no good. It didn’t make Dean return.

            Castiel jumped as the room’s door opened. He let out a sigh of relief. _Finally,_ he thought. He put on a smile. He wanted Dean to know that he was happy to see him – that he was glad that Dean decided to come back. But as a large figure appeared in the doorway, Castiel’s smile faded. This was not Dean.

            A young man in his mid-twenties entered the room. Castiel had to look up at hum he was so tall. He looked like a human giant, only he was a demon. His hair, a dark brown color, just barely touched his shoulders. The man wore it pushed back from his face and seemed to part in the middle of his scalp. Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if he found that he spent a lot of time on his hair alone. It looked _too_ good to be that way naturally.

            The man stared at Castiel, his face contorted with confusion. He narrowed his eyes and briefly glanced behind him. “Um . . .” he said, turning back to Castiel. “Hi . . . I’m looking for my older brother, Dean . . . Is he here?”

            Castiel shook his head, but relaxed. This was the Sam that Dean had mentioned. IT was odd though; Dean had said that Sam was a demon too, but he didn’t look or sound like one. He seemed so . . . human. “No, he’s been gone a while,” Castiel relayed. “Are you . . . Sam?”

            The young man looked surprised at the question. “Yes . . . Who are you, by the way?”

            Castiel looked at the ground submissively. Even though Sam _looked_ more human than Dean did didn’t mean that he was any kinder. He _was_ still a demon, and he had the power to kill. “My name is Castiel,” he answered. “I sold my soul to your brother.”

            Sam gave the human an odd look as if he were trying to wrap his head around this new information. He looked Castiel up in down, and the faintest of smiles ghosted across his face. His entire being hardened then – straightened up. “What the hell was Dean thinking?” he muttered to himself. “When Crowley—” He abruptly broke off and examined Castiel again. “Do you know where my brother went?”

            Castiel shook his head. “He just said that he had work to do.”

            “And I did,” a new, deep voice cut in. Castiel felt a shiver go up his spine.

            Dean was home.

            Both Sam and Castiel turned to see Dean’s figure darkening the doorway. “Hiya, Sammy,” he greeted. His lips twitched in what Castiel might’ve considered a smile if it weren’t for the forbidding tone of voice.

            “Dean,” Sam murmured in response. The older brother waltzed into the room with an air of confidence around him. He strode toward Sam, slowly . . . almost as if he was warning his brother to not start something. The door clicked shut as Dean came to a halt about three feet away from Sam. “I’ve been looking for you – Crowley has too.”

            Dean looked slightly displeased by this information. His lips curled. “Tell Lucky the Leprechaun that I’m not interested in anything he’s selling.”

            Sam let out an exasperated sigh. Castiel could almost hear a century’s worth of exhaustion and annoyance in it. “Dean . . . he’s pissed – beyond pissed. He’s livid. And it’s not just him either. Cain and Abbadon are looking for you too . . . Both for different reasons, granted, but . . . Look, you’ve broken a code that we all abide by! You can’t just . . . keep a soul for yourself! The Knights aren’t even supposed to conduct crossroads deals.

            Dean looked tired during Sam’s speech. On numerous occasions, he’d roll his eyes or look at Castiel as if to say: “Can you believe this guy?”

            “Sammy,” Dean said when Sam had finally finished his spiel. “Crowley might  be the King of Hell, but I can still kick his ass any day of the week. And Abbadon – pfft! If she – or even Azazel and his horde of spawn – become a problem, I’ll just borrow the Blade from Cain. Problem solved.”

            “He’s looking for you too,” Sam pointed out. “And last I heard, he wasn’t exactly pleased with you.”

            “Yeah, but when is Cain really _pleased_ with anyone?” Dean asked. “And if he wants to join this fight – one that doesn’t even concern him – then fuck him too!”

            “Dean!” Sam hissed. “I am your brother – I’m trying to help you out here! I want to avoid this _altercation_. It isn’t even a fight yet, and you act like you’re prepping for battle.”

            “Maybe I don’t _want_ help from you, Sam,” Dean muttered. “You ain’t even a _real_ demon.”

            Sam’s eyes narrowed and his jaw locked in place. Castiel began to fear that the two brothers themselves would start a fight right then and there. Sam’s muscles were tight and flexed under his clothing. “Real enough to take you on.”

            Dean smirked and let out a tiny laugh. “You think you are, but you’re really not. Not when I have the Mark of Cain.”

            Castiel had been standing there during this entire conversation, watching this all unfold with bated breath. _Cain?_ The _Cain? From the Bible? Abbadon? Azazel? Who are these people? They aren’t even people! They’re demons,_ Castiel thought with a shudder. _Very powerful demons by the sound of it. And what does Dean mean by the Mark of Cain? Is that why he’s so . . . powerful?_

            Sam gave his brother a pleading look. “Dean, please. Don’t be stupid. Just . . . Just go to Crowley and apologize. Give this human soul to the pit, and let’s be done with this.”

            Dean looked positively insulted. “ _Apologize?!_ ” he nearly screeched. “To Crowley?! Are you insane?! I’d rather _die_ that apologize to that dick!”

            “Dean,” Castiel spoke up then. The two demons looked at him in surprise, as if they’d forgotten he was there. They probably had. He’d been paying close attention, and from what he’d gathered from the conversation was that Dean had taken Castiel’s soul “illegally” and was now being chased for it. Whoever Crowley was, he seemed to be in charge, and he seemed particularly furious at Dean’s actions. Castiel didn’t want Dean to get in trouble, or get hurt, and especially not _die_.

            The demon looked at Castiel with an expression of exasperation. “Not now, Cas.”

            “Dean,” the soul persisted, watching the blond-haired demon with soft cerulean eyes “You . . . you can send me to the pit if . . . if it would be easier – better for you.”

            A strange look appeared in Dean’s eyes. He looked at Castiel, confused for a moment. His mind couldn’t seem to process _why_ Castiel would even offer this. The human gulped, suddenly feeling as if he should have kept his mouth shut. But then, Castiel saw something flash in those evergreen eyes . . . something that looked almost human. It was a mixture of awe, adoration, and a newfound determination.

            “That’s alright, Cas,” Dean said softly. His voice nearly made Castiel tremble. And then there was that name – a nickname. No one had ever given him a nickname before. _Cas._ “I ain’t gonna let you go to the pit,” Dean vowed “You . . . I ain’t gonna break my promise – we made a deal, after all.”

            Castiel felt numb all over, but it was kind of numb. It was pleasant . . . euphoric, almost.

            Sam watched the exchange with wary eyes. He then started at Dean as if his brother had grown a second head. “What the hell was—”

            “DEAN WINCHESTER!”

            The door of the room was violently thrown open. A man stood where the door had been just moments before. He was short – shorter than Castiel – and had dark, beady eyes. His hair was short and a dark brownish-black. He wore a beard along his jaw, chin, and upper lip that looked a little scruffy, but not entirely un-kept. He spoke with a  thick, Scottish accent. “WHAT IN LUCIFER’S NAME HAVE YOU DONE?!”

            Dean let out a tired sigh, but moved so he stood in front of Castiel. The human watched as the demon before him casually planted his feet on the ground and tensed his muscles. He was preparing for a fight. Instinctively, Castiel moved closer to Dean; the demon was his sole defender now. As Castiel moved closer, he accidentally brushed up against Dean’s arm. It was surprisingly hot. Inhumanly hot. Not sweaty in the slightest, but hot. It was as if the blood in his viens was made of fire. Castiel mumbled an apology, and he swore he saw the demon smirk.

            Crowley came forward, his dark eyes burning, and his face the personification of rage. “What were you even thinking?!” he roared. In appearance, he looked older than Dean – ten or twelve years, perhaps. He held himself highly – not necessarily with pompousness, but with authority.  He made it known to everyone in the room that _he_ was the boss here.

            “Hello to you too, Crowley,” Dean replied. He sounded bored.

            “Don’t ‘hello’ me!” Crowley crowed. “You _stole_ a soul from me!”

            Dean rolled his eyes. “Please! You’re overreacting. I didn’t _steal_ anything from you. Sugar-lips here came on his own accord.”

            “His soul should be _mine_!” Crowley insisted. “He summoned a crossroads demon, not a Knight! You had no business being there!”

            “And I simply took the place of the crossroads demon,” Dean explained as if it were a simple addition problem. “I gave them some time off.”

            “After you smote him?” Crowley prompted.

            Dean looked slightly annoyed now. He shifted his weight to one side and folded his arms across his chest.

            A look of triumph appeared on Crowley’s face. “You didn’t know that I knew about _that_ , did you, Squirrel?”

            “If you knew about the crossroads demon back then, why didn’t you confront me about it then when it was relevant?” Dean growled.

            “Because I didn’t think that you did it to get a soul for yourself!” Crowley snarled right back. “I know you have . . . violent tendencies. I know that Mark needs to be fed. Look, Dean . . . You and I have been through a lot together. I consider you a son – I took you and Moose in. I helped you both grow accustomed to demon life. I made you both _princes_. If you hand over the soul, I’ll forgive you – it’ll be water under the bridge.”

            Dean didn’t even consider it. “Nah, I think I’ll pass.”

            Crowley stared at him blankly. “What?”

            “I said no,” Dean repeated, this time with more force. “I made a deal with Cas here. I promised him that he wouldn’t go to the pit. I made the deal – after all, you _are_ the one that says to always honor the deals you make. We can’t have the human race thinking that Hell is unreliable. No one will deal with us anymore.”

            The older demon now looked absolutely enraged. “This _is not_ how we do things!” Castiel observed that Crowley’s being was shaking with rage. His voice rose an octave with every word he spoke until he was almost screaming. Castiel thought that if this went on a second more, Crowley would spontaneously transform into a cartoon character complete with smoke coming out of his ears. “I am the _king_ here.”

            “And as you just said, I’m the prince,” Dean retorted. His voice sounded deeper than usual – more . . . _demonic._ “And like it or not, I’m stronger than you. So, here is how it’s gonna be. You, Abbadon, and all the other demons that have caught wind of this are gonna back the fuck down. You will leave my human soul _alone._ And if _anyone_ – I don’t care if it’s you, I don’t care if it’s Sammy, I don’t care if it’s Cain, or Lilith, or Azazel, or even fucking Lucifer himself – messes with Cas, or harms in anyway, I will _personally_ drag your ass to the pit and torture you myself. Alastair can take a day off – hell, he can take the next few centuries off because I will _enjoy_ punishing anyone who even dreams of hurting Cas. Got it?”

            If Dean’s warning had been directed at Castiel, the human didn’t doubt that he would have been shaking in his boots. Crowley, on the other hand, wore a perfectly sculpted poker face. He assessed Dean for a few seconds, as if trying to decide whether or not he was serious. He didn’t nod. He didn’t make any sound. He simply turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

            Once Crowley was gone, both he and Sam let out breaths neither knew they’d been holding. Sam glowered at Dean. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

            Dean snorted. “I’m still here, ain’t I?”

            “Dean . . .” Sam trailed off, rubbing his temples laboriously. “Dean you . . . You just mouthed off to the King of Hell.”

            “And he _walked away_ ,” Dean pointed out. “He’s _scared_ of me Sammy – scared of _us_. He always had been. That’s why he always wanted to be buddy-buddy with us because he wanted us on _his_ side so we wouldn’t try to kill him.”

            Sam sighed. “I don’t think it’s that simple Dean. Crowley has the most powerful demons in Hell on his side, and you just went over to the dark side in his eyes. He’ll send other demons after you – Abbadon and Lilith most likely . . . Azazel too. Maybe even Astaroth.”

            “Astaroth? That bitch?” Dean laughed. “If _she_ is one of the best Crowley’s got—”

            “Cain,” Sam said suddenly. “Crowley has Cain – and you know damn well that Cain can kill you. Easily. Hell, he might be the only demon that can, but . . . Is it worth the risk?”

            “Cain won’t kill me,” Dean stated simply with confidence. “He won’t.”

            “Dean—”

            “He _won’t._ ”

            “How do you know?”

            “Because I know Cain – I know him more than you do . . . more than Crowley does. I bare his Mark. He and I are one in the same. You don’t have to worry about him.”

            Sam didn’t ask any more questions. He just looked from Dean to Castiel before exiting the room, leaving the Knight and the human alone.

            When Sam had gone, Dean turned to Castiel. It was then that Castiel realized how close he had been to Dean during all of this. The demon was less than a foot away; in fact, there were only a few inches of space between them. Dean looked down at Castiel, his eyes softer than the human had ever seen them. “Hey . . . you alright?”

            Castiel swallowed a lump that had risen in his throat. He now seemed to realize the danger that he’d been in. His being began to shake slightly, but he nodded. “Yeah . . . I’m good. Is . . . Is Crowley going to come back?”

            Dean shrugged. “Probably. I’d be surprised if he didn’t . . . But he’s not going to take you away. I promise.”

            There was little emotion in Dean’s words. They seemed almost robotic the more Castiel thought about it. But they soothed him. The human didn’t doubt that Dean meant them, it was just the demon part of him that refused to show any emotion. Right? “Okay . . . Thank you for defending me.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” Dean admonished. “It was nothing.”

            “It didn’t seem like nothing,” Castiel mumbled.

            “Please,” Dean huffed. “It really is no big deal . . . Just another day in the life of Dean Winchester.”


End file.
